


You Can Leave Your Hat On

by coffeethyme4me



Category: White Collar
Genre: D/s, Exhibitionism, M/M, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-08
Updated: 2010-05-08
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:45:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeethyme4me/pseuds/coffeethyme4me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal.  Naked except for the hat.  Out on his terrace.  Peter shows up.  (MMoM Day Eight)</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Leave Your Hat On

**Author's Note:**

> Own nothing!

It was one of those Spring days that hints of Summer, the strong scent of June's champagne roses thicker in the air than the exhaust and the breeze warming his skin rather than chilling it for the first time in months.

Neal relaxed back in the lounge chair on his terrace, using his fedora to shield his eyes from the morning sun. He had his coffee close, the New York Times if he cared to read it, a book on Albrecht Dürer, and he was wearing his favorite silver-gray silk robe. All was right with the world. Except that his tracker was chaffing a bit. But hey…it went with the robe at least.

The breeze felt so good on Neal's face and ankles that he loosened the tie on his robe and let it slide from his body and arms, draping it instead over the deck chair. He took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the sun on his chest, his nipples, the breeze hardening them. And hardening other parts as well. Namely the cock rising up inside his silk boxers.

Neal looked around, although there would be no one but people in sky-scrapers with binoculars to see him. He smirked to himself, feeling naughty and a little sleepy, and proceeded to take his boxers down his legs and off, tossing them to the side. It felt impossibly good to be lying on his silk robe, naked, with his hat shading his eyes. His cock sprang up, but Neal didn't touch it. He let the sun and the breeze do that. He felt content, lazy, sensual. It was a flawless Saturday morning in New York, he had the day to himself, and damned if he wasn't going to bask a little.

Of course, it wasn't long before he started thinking of Peter. It seemed every erection lately was either begun with thoughts of Peter or, if they didn't start there, they ended that way. They had only been going out for a couple of weeks. Peter was such a gentleman that they hadn't even slept together until their fifth date. And Peter had stayed a gentleman even then. He'd prepped Neal, kissed him, laved his nipples with his hot, patient tongue. He'd sucked on Neal's cock until he was ready, and then he'd draped Neal's legs over his muscular shoulders and slid slowly up his ass.

It had been beautiful. Incredible. Neal had come as hard as he ever had. And yet… Neal stretched now, enjoying the way his cock bobbed, its precious skin seeming to tighten and send a rush of pleasure up his whole body. Neal had found himself wondering if Peter had a bad side. And if Neal would get to see it if he could be good enough.

The idea was delicious -- trying to picture what a bad Peter would be like – and Neal soon found his fingers tickling around the head of his penis, making it jump to be touched with a stronger hand.

Peter had strong hands….

Neal closed his eyes and remembered the absolute thrill of Peter's first touch on his cock. They'd been in the car, after a date, and they'd kissed hard and long. And suddenly, Neal had felt Peter's fingers undoing his pants. He had shivered. But then when Peter wrapped his calloused hand around it, Neal had practically levitated off the seat with want. Peter had really strong, hot, commanding hands.

He had made Neal feel controlled. And Neal had come like a rocket from just Peter's confident hand jacking him slowly.

Neal started stroking his fingers along the flushed length of his cock now, remembering the feel of that expert hand. It had been amazing, that it was Peter touching him, his friend, his boss, his handler. The illicitness of that had been enough. That and the fact that, although he and El had discussed Peter having sex with Neal, the scandalous feelings were still fresh and exciting. What they were doing was "wrong" on multiple levels. And that was one of the things that made it so goddamned good.

Still…

Neal teased himself, letting off his cock to stroke down his balls, rolling them on a sigh, and then brushing an inquisitive finger over his anus, bending one knee and letting the other leg fall off the deck chair all together.

Neal still wondered if what you saw on the surface of Peter Burke – tall, strong, kind, generous, competent and commanding lover – was all there was to see. All there was to get fucked by. Not that it wasn't enough. And Neal felt bad about his unfair desire for more.

Still… It didn't stop him from fantasizing.

And it was in the midst of fantasizing, a finger half up his ass and the other hand tweaking his nipples, that the voice boomed at him, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Neal startled, coming up on his elbow and tipping his hat back to see Peter standing over him, silhouetted by the sun. "Peter! How did you…?"

"Caffrey, do you think you're the only one who can break into a place without being noticed? Who exactly do you take me for?" And Peter's voice was not all together playful. It had a delightfully hard edge to it. Neal's naked cock pulled up hard toward his belly and he went hot all over.

He started to sit up.

"Did I say you could stop?"

Neal swallowed audibly.

"If you're slut enough to put on a show for all New York, don't let a little thing like your boyfriend stop you."

Neal had been about to contest the slut remark (even though it had made him cream hard from his slit) when the other word hit him with its full force.

Boyfriend?

He was Peter's boyfriend? Neal would never admit to it in a million years, but he blushed then, from his wiggling toes to his hot cheeks. And it wasn't a con. It was real. He started to take his hat off.

"Leave it," Peter said forcefully. "Lie back." And he shoved at Neal's shoulder with his shod foot. Neal gasped and reclined once more against the chair. "Spread your legs," Peter said. "You wanna make sure they can see up your asshole on the thirty-fifth floor."

Neal gasped. His cock was throbbing hard now and leaving a glistening pool of liquid lust in his belly button. He spread his legs. But it sure as hell wasn't for the thirty-fifth floor. It was for the hot, demanding man standing over him like a god.

"Lick your finger and stuff it up your hole."

Neal groaned and stuck his finger in his mouth.

"Show the perv with the telescope up there how bad you wanna suck him off," Peter said, and Neal closed his eyes and fucked his mouth with his finger, cheeks hollowing on it.

When he opened his eyes again, Peter was frenetically unzipping his pants and pulling his dick free. The sight was almost frightening in its intensity. Peter was erect, straining. Still standing, he straddled the chair in the vicinity of Neal's knees and starting jerking off.

"Now fuck it into your warm little hole," he said. "Show everybody how much you want a cock shoved up there."

And as Neal did it, as he wormed his index finger into his butt, he couldn't believe this was Peter! His buttoned down FBI agent! As Moz would say only somewhat endearingly, "The Suit"!

Ask and ye shall receive, Neal thought. And he started reaming his own ass for all he was worth.

Peter pointed his dick down toward Neal's crotch, avidly watching him finger-fuck himself. "Pull your knees up like a whore."

Neal did it, holding one with a hand and the other with sheer abdominal strength.

"Two fingers."

Neal grunted, going slower by necessity as he worked a second finger in alongside the first.

"Come on, you can take my cock. Get that finger in there *now*."

Neal pushed it in.

"Now make your asshole suck it."

Neal blinked. It wasn't something anybody had ever said to him before, and the words burned up his spine, flashed hot inside him, made him want to cry for more. God, not in his wildest dreams…

Neal held his fingers still, and then he relaxed his hole as much as he could, shoved his ass down on them, tightened his hole back up and then pulled back. "Like that?" he asked, feeling like a slut, a cock-hungry, fuck-desperate slut. Peter's slut.

"Yeah, just like that," Peter said, and Neal could hear how turned on he was by it. "That ass'd like to suck my cock now wouldn't it?" he breathed.

"Unh huh," was all Neal could manage. He started an undulating rhythm, sucking his fingers with his asshole as best he could.

Peter worked his dick roughly, and Neal gulped at its sheer size. He'd sort of begun to think he was adding inches in his fantasies. Now, he wondered if he'd actually been subtracting!

"I should make you turn over and then rip open your butthole with my cock," Peter said. Neal wanted to touch his own penis so bad he was close to begging. And yes. Indeed, Peter *should* do that. Jesus… Neal sucked his fingers with his ass some more. He was getting good at it. And it felt rather wonderful. Physically and emotionally. Losing control. Having it taken from him. In front of the whole of New York City.

"You want it on all fours, don't you? You want me fucking it into you from behind like an animal." Peter's breath hitched. "Don't you…"

"Yesssss…" Neal said.

"Three fingers."

Neal forced a third finger in, surprised that it went more smoothly. He was loose with arousal.

Peter widened his stance a little. He'd started to pre-cum, and it was…God, it was getting on Neal's fingers, getting fucked into his hole.

"Almost," Peter sighed. "Fuck yourself again. Faster." Neal did as he was told, now holding his ass still, relaxing open for his fingers which now thrust quickly inside.

And apparently he did it right, because Peter let out a groan like he was dying, and he starting coming all over Neal. He came on his fucked hole, and Neal shuddered at feeling Peter's hot, wet spunk inside him. He changed his angle and came on Neal's cock. It leapt for it, reaching for it. He shifted again and sent a thick rope over Neal's chest. Then he shuffled forward, straddling Neal's upper body, and he starting coming all over Neal's face. Peter squeezed down on the head furiously fast, teeth clenched, and Neal opened his mouth and shut his eyes.

He tasted it. He smelled it. He was coated in it. He was wearing nothing but his fedora and his boyfriend's jizz.

Perfection…

With one last growl, Peter landed one right in Neal's mouth, and Neal moaned and swallowed, licking around his lips, opening his eyes and seeing Peter over him, panting.

Then Peter leaned down, thumbed a little off Neal's cheek, licked it off, and then started putting himself away.

"C-can I come now?" Neal asked.

Peter laughed, moving back off the chair. "No," he said, as if this should have been obvious. "You're going to wrap yourself up and come inside. I'm going to make you breakfast, you're going to eat it, and then I'm going to fuck your sweet little nasty, exhibitionist's ass in the shower."

Peter shook his head. Then, smiling at him like Neal was used to, he said, "Then, Neal. Then you can come." And then on his way back inside, still shaking his head, "You little shit."

Neal smiled, then. A big, beaming, I-have-a-boyfriend smile. He tipped his hat on his head jauntily and licked his lips.

END


End file.
